Killing the Fire
by noorwrites
Summary: Gabriella wakes up to two strangers who are set on the fact that they had been hunting together for the past two years. If that wasn't confusing enough, though, they also tell her that the deal she made with a demon ten years ago is now up. Can Gabriella get her memory back before the hounds catch her scent? {Dean/OC} {Oneshot}


_***Dododo another oneshot. I don't know guys, no one is even reading them, but I just need to get this stuff out. This one's kinda sad. Dean/OC. Hope you enjoy it! Please, leave a review if you can. I'd REALLY appreciate it! Thanks.***_

The pain was sharp like needles, poking at the inside of my head. My temples pounded, my eyes throbbed behind their lids, even my teeth, which I clenched down hard on, grinding their rough edges against each other, surged with pain. I shifted around on top of what felt like an old couch, a lumpy pillow under my head, each little movement causing a new fresh pain shooting through my skull. I gasped in a sharp breath as the pain consumed my bones, my eyes shooting open and then closing just as fast.

"Whoa, whoa…" An unfamiliar deep, gravelly voice spoke softly from nearby. I felt a hand gently brush the hair away from my forehead, the skin rough and dry, but yet so soothing. "Take it easy, curly."

I slowly forced my tear-stinging eyes open, trying to get a look at who the voice belonged to. Immediately, I was greeted by the green eyes, strong jaw, and lightly freckled nose of a man I had never seen before. I stared up at him for a second through my blurry vision, and then suddenly, I felt a little prickle at the back of neck, the hairs standing up, and I was overcome by the feeling to get this guy away from me, my body warning me.

I immediately shot upright on the couch, grabbed the guys arm, twisted it back dangerously, and shoved him away from me, sending him stumbling into a small coffee table. He knocked over a couple of empty bottles of beer, which shattered into pieces at it met the floorboards.

He looked up at me with wide eyes, clearly taken aback. "What the hell, Gabs!?" He asked frantically, shaking out the arm I had twisted.

"Gabs: that's what my mom calls me. How do you know my name?" I questioned suspiciously, cautiously taking a step back from him, the heels of my boots hitting into the couch.

"What do you mean how do I know?" The way he said it, with a single brow raised, his head cocked slightly, it was as if I had asked the weirdest question in the world. "Gabby, it's me Dean, Dean Winchester?"

I just stared at him, my mind turning up blank.

He sighed, "Come on, don't you think this might be a bad time to joke around." He took a single step closer to me, and then there was that prickle again, and then I was reaching down into my boot and pulling out a small blade, gleaming, sharp, pointing it straight at the stranger. "Okay, okay, let's just calm down." He raised both of his hands in the air, surrendering.

"Who are you!?" I demanded, standing my ground.

"It's_ me_, Gabby! It's Dean!" He just repeated loudly.

I racked my brain, trying to match his name with his face, but I still ended up with the same thing as last time; squat. "I don't know a Dean. I don't know any Deans."

"Yeah, you do, actually. You know one; me." He replied in a matter-of-fact tone, his hands still high in the air. "We met on a case a couple years ago, okay?"

"A case?" I repeated, slowly nodding my head, trying to keep up with this guy's crazy story. The word 'case' didn't mean to me what it meant to other people. 'Case' meant work, it meant blood, and it meant solitude. "If that word means the same thing to you as it does to me, then you know that in this job, you don't meet someone and then still keep in touch for two years. Especially not to the point where they freggin' stroke your hair and give you nicknames like 'curly'." I shot back, still not believing this guy for a second, scanning him from the tips of his short, light brown hair, to the muddy and worn out laces of his boots.

"A'int gonna disagree there, sweetheart." He pouted his lips and gave a single not of his head. "Not a lot of hunters are into that kind thing, but you know what kind of people are into it; couples." He chuckled, but I just couldn't bring myself to laugh.

"We are _not_ a couple, buddy." I assured him, gripping down tighter on the handle of my knife.

"Okay…fun's over." He began on a serious note, whatever light mood he was conveying before was now gone, and his voice filled with what, Gabriella was sure, sounded a hell of a lot like concern. "It's not funny, Gabs—"

"Gabriella." I snapped, correcting him. I just didn't have the patience for this. I had no idea what was going on, but the hunter that I had molded and shaped myself into for the past eight years was screaming inside me; something was up. "And no one said I was laughing."

Just then, heavy footsteps rang out from what sounded like a lower level, growing louder and louder, fast. Dean Winchester and I turned our heads to the source of the sound just in time to see yet another strange man emerging from a basement door. He carried a brown clothed bag in one hand, tied shut with a thick string, and in the other, he gripped a gun. He was taller than Dean, but not at all more familiar.

"What's going on, I heard noises?" He asked worriedly, his breathing slightly unsteady, as if he had been running up the stairs. He looked over at me, and his eyes immediately softened, his face dropping. "Hey." He said simply, sympathy clinging to every letter. "You're up."

But why all the sympathy…?

Dean sighed deeply. "Gabriella meet Sam, Sam…" he close his eyes and released yet another frustrated sigh, "Gabriella."

Sam stood there for a short moment, taking it in. He ran a hand through his shoulder length, brown hair. "No…I-I mean, sure you were out a couple of hours, but…" he trailed off, slowly shaking his head. "You hit your head harder than we thought."

"What are you mean I hit my head?" I raised my free hand up to my forehead. My fingers immediately met the distinctive feeling of warm blood. "What the hell…?" I muttered, staring wide-eyed at my red fingers. "What is going on here? What is this place?" I said fed up, taking a good look around the room.

It was a four wooden-walled cabin, familiar symbols painted on the walls in red, white, yellow. There was a small sitting room, where the three of us stood. Empty beer bottles were laying around, a couple beside the couch, another on top of the old looking TV. There was also a kitchen, also home to a few dry bottles of beer, as well as greasy fast food wrappers that littered the counters, dishes piled up in the sink, and a table, with papers spread all around it's round surface, ancient looking books, opened, their foreign text fading on the crinkled papers; this did look like the hideout of a couple of hunters, for sure, but that still didn't answer any of my questions.

Sam glanced over at Dean, their dejected gazes locking, as if they were speaking through their eyes. Dean dropped his eyes first, looking to the floorboards, leaving the taller man to answer. "We brought you here to…protect you."

I felt sick with confusion. "Protect me from what?" I asked, quickly shaking my muddled head, my patience wearing thin.

"From—" Sam begun, but Dean interjected, speaking of subjects Sam and I were far done with.

"You really don't remember anything. You don't know me, or Sam," He said wretchedly, the situation obviously not sinking into his head. His brows puckered as he met my eyes. "Come on…please." He pleaded every syllable heavy with desperation. "Not today, Gabs. Not…_now._"

"Why, what's now?" I was frantic, my voice rising.

"Son of a_ bitch…"_ He muttered under his breath, roughly wiping down his mouth and chin with a strong hand. "She doesn't even know, Sammy."

Sam released a deep breath before speaking again, very patiently. "Gabriella, ten years ago, you made a deal…with a demon to save your mom from a terminal disease."

I froze. "How do you know that?"

"Because we're your damn family, that's why!" Dean cut in again, angrily throwing his hands up in the air then slapping them down on his jeans. "After the deal, you and your mom became hunters. You two worked alone, until you met us."

Then suddenly, a sound rang out from behind the wooden walls that made making us all turn white. It was distant, but not distant enough for comfort. It was growling, deep grumbling, that only got louder the louder the more we stood there, frozen in our places.

"Hell Hounds." We all said in sync.

"Sam, now, hurry!" Dean broke out suddenly, nodding his head in the direction of the door.

"Got it." Sam said curtly, giving me one last soft look before tossing his gun down on the kitchen table and rushing over to the door. He leaned down close to the threshold, untied the brown bag in his hand, and began to pour this dark grey powder along the end of the door, making sure the layer was thick, using up pretty much the whole bag.

"T-Those can't be for me," I stammered, feeling the blood rush from my face. "I still have two years."

Dean slowly shook his head and stepped closer to me. "Sorry Gabs, but you have no memory of the last two years." He reached over, slowly pulling the knife from out of my sweaty grasp, letting it fall to the floor with a clank.

"You're lying!" I yelled, my voice breaking as I denied it.

He gazed at me for a long time, his green eyes swimming with misery, pain, screaming with truth. "I wish I was, Gabs." He swallowed hard. "I really do."

Then suddenly the growls outside were replaced by barks, loud and deafening, wild, sending my nerves into overdrive. I jumped in my place, my hands flying up to lips to stop the screams from escaping them. "Nononono…" I whispered, tears filling my eyes, my heart shooting up to my throat, pounding painfully against my skin. This couldn't be happening…I had two years…I had two years.

"Hey, hey…" Dean took another big step closer to me and, without hesitation, took me in his big arms. He pulled me in, so close that I could hear his heart beating rapidly, his breath shaking as he spoke again. "We're not gonna let them get you, alright? You got us, the Winchesters; heaven, hell, and Earth's most wanted, baby. You got nothing to worry about." And I didn't know if he was talking more to me, or to himself.

"I have no idea who you even are, dude…" I sobbed into his chest, not knowing exactly why I let him hold me the way he was, but I was scared out of my mind, and it felt…it just felt safe.

"Oh, trust me, sweetheart you _do_." He stressed dreadfully, breathing into my hair, his warmth sending chills down my back. "I'm Dean, your hotheaded, immature, ass of a boyfriend. Come on, Gabs, think!" He begged, and I could hear his voice tighten, as if he was holding back sobs.

"Guys!" Sam yelled from the door, his back pressed tight against its breaking surface. "I don't how much longer this stuff is gonna keep them out!"

"Dammit," Dean breathed, tightening his arms around me, his finger tangling deeper into my curls, as if that would help me remember, and at this point, with the hounds scratching their nails against the door, snarling hungrily, I wish I would just remember too. "Shh..Shh…you're okay, you're fine." His deep, strong voice breaking as he soothed me, placing a rough kiss against my forehead.

I clung on to his shirt, digging my face into it, letting the fabric soak up the tears. I sucked in the warm air between us in a sob, his scent filling my head. He smelled strongly of whiskey, faint sweat, and cheap cologne, but most of all, he smelled familiar. I froze, clinging to his shirt, taking in the familiarity. Then suddenly, a tsunami of memories, of emotions rushed into my head; meeting the Winchesters, our first case together, Sam, Bobby, Cas, the Impala, the motels, the pies, the beers, the blood, the loss, the love. I remembered hitting my head while running away from the Hell Hounds two hours ago, and I remembered Dean, my immature, hotheaded, ass of a boyfriend, laying me down on the couch of Rufus' cabin for me to rest. I slowly leaned back from his chest and looked up into tear stricken, wretched green eyes. "You know what, I change my mind." I began, placing a trembling palm on his cheek, feeling the stubble tickle my skin. "I don't care if you buy your cologne from gas stations, I like it." I sniffled, laughing for the last time with him.

Every feature on his face relaxed as he gave a little relieved laugh through his nose. His lips twitched upward in a broken smile as he placed his own hand over mine and leaned down to give me one last kiss, but my time was up.

An ear shattering crash ruined our moment, our lips only centimeters away from each other. The door broke into a million pieces, wood flying all over the place, sending Sam onto his stomach. The invisible hounds raced into the room, their claws skidding over the wood.

Dean released me, grabbing the knife from off the floor and flinging it into mid-air in defense. There was a whimper, but that didn't stop the rest of them from pouncing on top of me. My back hit the floorboards so hard it felt as though my spine had snapped.

"GABRIELLA!" Dean yelled, now using Sam's gun to shoot at all the things he couldn't see. It was sad, seeing him still trying to save me, but he was fighting for someone who was already dead.

Invisible claws sank into me, tearing apart my skin like wrapping paper, as if my organs were some kind of big surprise. Razor sharp teeth ripped right through my clothes and into my body, taking big bites at a time, covering every inch of my in warm, fresh blood. I shrieked at the top of my lungs, trying to pry the invisible demon dogs off me, but I was running out of arm to use.

I saw Dean stupidly try to come over to me, but Sam ran up behind him, seizing his shoulders. "Dean, it's too late!"

"We're not gonna let 'er die, Sammy!" Dean argued, thrashing in his brother's grasp, trying to break free.

"_You're_ gonna die if we don't get out of here!" He persisted, roughly shoving him towards the door, dragging him by his jacket.

"We're gonna get you out, Gabs!" I heard him cry, his shattered voice growing more and more distant, and then suddenly, it was just me and destiny.

The pain was too great to be described with simple words. All I knew was that I had never felt anything worse in my life. It stung, burned, and seared all over; a hot, white pain. Then, in one wave of cool relief, it was over.

No, the boys never pulled me out of Hell. I never got to see my mom again, or ride in the backseat of the Impala, resting my head against the rumbling window as Dean and Sam talked over the next gig. I never got to torch another corpse, or Queen of Heart a vamp. I never even got to have that kiss with Dean, but as I lay there in hell, the flames licking at every inch of me, with all their heat and bite, I still dreamed about how it might've felt to have his lips over mine again, and the thought itself, killed the fire.


End file.
